Kiss My Apocalips Ch. 01

My mouth had somehow fallen open, and I closed it and took a breath. "Okay, I promise to protect you."

She nodded, turned away from me and marched back into the main part of the store, where she picked up two assault weapons with banana clips, and carried them toward the front of the building.

I can't believe it only took us forty-five minutes. I decided to divvy up the workload, and after I found a locked room in the back that turned out to house almost all of the ammo, I concentrated on that, leaving everything else up to her. I filled up a shopping cart, wheeled it out to the truck, and stacked it, starting at the cab-end of the bed and building a solid wall of ammunition, up to the top edge of the storage area. Some of them were very small boxes, only a few inches cubed; but they went all the way up to medium and large-sized metal ammo boxes that must have weighed about twenty pounds each. Then I went back for another load. And another. I had no idea whatsoever what I was doing or which bullets went with which firearm.

Wanda was more methodical than I gave her credit for. She started by stacking the largest and longest rifles, then began filling in the gaps with smaller assault weapons and handguns. Once upon a time, I had followed along with my mother in picketing against these things at anti-gun demonstrations in Eugene and near the Capitol building in Salem. Now, I found myself seeking out and packing books, periodicals and manuals that would teach me how to operate these deadly gizmos. Scopes, modification kits, sniper-stands, bayonets. Even silencers! Everything joined the cache in the back of that truck.

When the bed of the pickup had been filled to the gunnels, I worked to secure the cover over our load of contraband. It had all worked out better than I could have imagined, and when I turned to look at our plundered shop, I was surprised to find not one deadly item anywhere in sight.

"Who's driving?" I asked her after retrieving my backpack and the toolbox from the Honda. I glanced at my watch. It was ten fifty-one.

She climbed behind the wheel and, after fishing around in the too-tight pocket of her shorts, she produced a key. It surprised me. I didn't know any vehicles still had actual keys. "Where to, partner?" she asked in a chipper voice.

"Well, that's the question, isn't it?" I responded. "We could find a nice farmhouse, far from any possible prying eyes. Maybe eat our fill of blueberries and filberts. I could recommend either of two very nice mountain ranges, if you'd like that life, instead. Is there anything thing you're hankering to see?"

"I've never seen the ocean," she told me thoughtfully.

"Really? No shit?"

"Nope. I've seen three of the Great Lakes, though."

I nodded. "West, then. There's an outfitter's store a half-mile north. Let's stop there and pick up some maps. Then, we'll start exploring the Coastal Mountains."

She cranked the machine. "Holy shit!" I exclaimed. "Is this an I.C.E.?"

"I.C.E?" she repeated.

"Internal Combustion Engine. I didn't know any school or government vehicles still used them!"

"Budget cuts," she griped, and put the beast in gear. We were suddenly hauling a very heavy load, and it accelerated slowly.

But plans change. One look at the camping store told me that we couldn't ignore the opportunities that place presented. The power grid in Junction City had finally succumbed to the lack of human interaction, so blaring alarms were no longer a concern when I used my trusty steel bar to gain entrance. It was a big place, one that was associated with a national chain, and the stock was very, very impressive. Everywhere I looked, I saw things that would be useful if we hid out in the Mountains: sleeping bags, space blankets, camp stoves, fishing gear, snow shoes. I could envision a need for it all. But it was standing in front of an entire aisle of "camping" solar panels and batteries that cemented my decision. I had to have these. I mean, I really, really wanted these.

The sign in the store window announced that the place opened at eight. Out in the parking lot, there were only three vehicles, one of which was a black Toyota Mammoth 4X4 EV. The thing looked like it could climb a tree if you could find the proper gear. There was a jet ski on a trailer behind it. On the sidewalk next to the front door, I had seen three piles of clothing which was mostly swim suits, two from girls, one from a guy. They had obviously been there waiting for the place to open when The Event hit. I kicked around in the pile of menswear; and, sure enough, I found an electronic key fob. The truck was ours. It took all of five minutes to disconnect the little trailer and unceremoniously dump everything from the truck's cargo bed onto the surface of the parking lot. I backed the vehicle up to the door and went in to start pillaging.

But the first place I went was the office section of the large store, which was set up high, overlooking the main retail floor through a row of mirrored windows. I marched up a set of stairs which led to this, and Wanda, realizing my intentions, followed me. The security camera setup was glowing brightly in the otherwise dark room, obviously through the use of a backup power supply, which would thwart prospective robbers from simply cutting the electricity to the building. It was much more sophisticated than the gun shop's, with no fewer than six monitors that switched views every ten seconds. We saw our two trucks parked near the front door. There was no movement on any of them except one. Every ten seconds, we saw ourselves on monitor number two.

Wanda patted my shoulder, and I got up. She took my place and quickly began navigating the various menus. She was good. We watched as I moved the black pickup, then dumped the contents, then hooked the trailer up. Again, it was running backwards. We watched the green truck move away in reverse. And then, nothing. All the way to 7:47. And the recorded data ended. We could see the three piles of swimwear sitting next to the door. She carefully checked the computer's storage, deleted items, malware info, everything.

She stood and faced me. "You can make sense of this?" she asked.

I smiled. "I can make sense of anything. It's easy, if you start with an answer and then change the questions until you make THEM fit. But that's not a very effective way to solve a mystery." I wanted to get on with our plundering, so I led her back down to the retail floor.

Those electrical items were first. Then, I took an empty box and started stuffing every chart and map I could find into it: General maps, topographical charts, geological and other thematic projections, guides for hikers, backpackers, campers, hunters and fishermen. Everything was for the Coastals, from Tillamook to Gold Beach, south of Coos Bay. If we wanted to get lost where no one would ever find us, this was the place to do it.

After that came the general camping stuff; everything that had caught my eye before. Wanda stayed with the truck and packed it all. I have to hand it to her: she certainly had a knack for organization. Most of the stuff was still packaged, primarily in boxes, so it was sort of like fitting together a jigsaw in a frame. I brought her in and set her free in the clothing section, telling her that, above all else, she needed to get an extra pair of boots. She never hesitated, snatching shirts, jackets, shorts, long pants; and she didn't try on anything, not even the boots, which never left the box. I carried several armloads for myself, stuffing it all into the narrow back seat. It was after her third trip that she dropped the bombshell.

"Jacob! I saw a truck go by!"

Crap! I'd been caught flat-footed! How could I be so stupid!? I hadn't kept a single weapon from the other shop!

"What kind of truck?" I snatched up a hand axe from a display and strode to the hunting section.

"A blue one," she answered.

"A blue one," I muttered disgustedly. I swung the axe, and the display case containing a bunch of handguns shattered. I tried not to intone the frustration I felt. "Was it a police vehicle? Did they see you?"

"Um ... no. It was just a regular pickup truck. It had tinted windows, and I couldn't see how many were inside. I don't think they saw me, because it didn't slow down. They were driving south, toward Main Street."

I vaulted over the counter and started pummeling the cabinets below the back of the display. The little axe was a good one. I decided I was going to hang onto it. As I expected, the lower cabinet contained boxes of ammunition. I grabbed two boxes each of.38 and.45 cartridges and then studied the little display cards next to the guns. I chose a revolver and handed it to Wanda, along with the.38 shells. "Figure out how to load this thing. Then be careful with it."

"Um ... okay."

I fumbled with the.45 automatic. How many times had I seen video actors flip levers and click gizmos on something like this. It all seemed so easy, watching that. I poked and prodded, being careful not to point it in my companion's direction, and I finally, finally got the damn magazine to slide out of the grip. Now, I had to get the box of cartridges open; but they'd been shrink-wrapped, and I needed something to slice the edge. At long last, I fumbled the shells from the box and started stuffing the things into the magazine. I looked up at Wanda, who had long since finished with hers, and she now stood with an overly-tolerant grin gracing her pretty lips.

"What?!" I asked defensively.

"Nothing. Nothing," she responded innocently.

"Okay, let's get out of here," I suggested. I started leading the way toward the front, but then told her wait a minute, and I went back for the little axe. She was carrying the revolver down at her side and the two little ammo boxes clutched in her other hand. "You look like Laura Croft," I told her.

"Who?"

I sighed. "Never mind."

Outside, I motioned for her to stop, and looked to our left, toward the center of town. I listened carefully, but I heard only the wind.

"Do you think that whatever took all the people made the birds go away, too?" she asked.

The question startled me. Had I seen any animal life since this had all begun? I didn't know. I hadn't been paying attention to that. She nodded as if I'd answered her question, then strode over to the green pickup. "I assume you want me to follow you," she said.

I looked at the black 4X4, and my heart sank. "Shit. I have to tie down all this stuff. Stay out of sight, and I'll be back in a minute." I left my gun sitting on the rear bumper, and I sprinted back inside after some cargo straps. It didn't take long to secure the load, but I felt as if I was always behind, always trying to catch up, never in the safety zone I wanted around us.

At long last, I retrieved the handgun and climbed into the driver's seat. Wanda mounted up, as well, then waited until I'd pulled my vehicle up to hers, facing the opposite way. We had our windows down.

"Do you know where we're going?" she asked.

"I think I know a starting point," I answered. She nodded.

I tapped my watch and was just a little surprised to see that navigation was still functioning. "Traffic notifications are unavailable," the little speaker squawked. Well, at least THAT made sense, anyway. I put in my earpiece to save my watch's charge, then followed the directions out onto the highway, heading north. I took an almost immediate left and led my little 2-vehicle caravan on a meandering course that included several neighborhoods. We eventually joined a medium-sized farm road heading west.

I'd never been on this road, but I knew where it led. As I had hoped, all the vehicles we encountered had exited the pavement and wound up in ditches and fields before something eventually stopped them. I paused once, right in the middle of the road, turning my vehicle off, opening my door, and, sprinting back to Wanda's truck, I pointed frantically. "Look!" I cried, and she followed my pointing finger, smiling at the honking formation of Canada geese flying overhead. They were steering a general course of south.

"Oh, thank goodness," she replied, straining out the window to watch them. Holy shit, she was pretty! I wandered back, started the EV, and drove on.

Eventually, we came to a no-numbered highway that ran due north-south, and I turned to the right. My destination was a rhododendron farm that my mom frequented every spring as a Mother's Day present to herself. I, of course, was pressed into service planting these bushes in our back yard, and then watering them through the dry season. They had all flourished, and they made quite a show in the springtime. I had always been impressed by the farming operation, and it had drawn me here for several reasons.

Firstly: who, after an event like this, would give any strategic importance to a flower farm? It would be a perfect hidey-hole while we figured out our next move. Secondly, I remembered the place having several, perhaps a dozen, outbuildings, ranging from new to dilapidated. I'd be able to stash the guns in such a way that they'd never be found, knowing that they'd still be there when I came back to retrieve them. And lastly, I could remember examining two above-ground fuel storage tanks while Mom was picking out her next pretty shrub. There had been one tank for diesel and one for regular gasoline. This EV truck I'd chosen was a great ride, but my future transportation in the back-country mountains might have to be gas-driven.

The only wrench in my plan was if the farm turned out to be inhabited. But, of course, it was just as deserted as everywhere else. I found the sign I was looking for, and followed the narrow driveway up to the farm proper, and their combination "showroom" and giftshop. There was a large parking area, which was completely devoid of vehicles, with a massive red barn and two huge greenhouses nearby. Behind the "showroom," a large white farmhouse with chipping paint and a wide wrap-around porch attested to the fact that the business had been around for multiple generations.

We both got out and stretched the kinks out our bodies, looking the place over. Once again, I found myself searching for any sign of animal life, and I saw and heard none. But ... I did hear something. Something familiar.

"What is that?" Wanda asked.

I finally figured it out. "Oh, shit!" exclaimed, and I raced around the low shop building and up toward the big house, Wanda hot on my heels.

I strode up the front steps and across the porch, praying that the front door was unlocked. It was, and as soon as it was open, the decibels increased. I paused to figure out where the fire alarm was coming from, but before I could do anything, Wanda had dodged around me and sprinted across a large dining room, into a spacious kitchen.

"NO! Don't touch that!" I screamed at her; and thank heavens, she heeded my warning and snatched back her outstretched hand from the pan on the gas stove. It was a real oddity in this day and age, a cast iron skillet. Especially a bright orange one. But it wasn't painted orange, of course. It was glowing brightly from the heat. I walked up beside her, reached forward, and turned off the gas burner.

She held up a checkered piece of cloth that she'd grabbed from somewhere. "I wasn't going to touch it with my bare hand!" she said defensively.

I gave her an exasperated look and plucked the potholder from her fingers. Then, I touched the corner of the thing to the pan. It immediately burst into flames, and I carelessly flipped it into the sink, where it sputtered and smoked.

Walking over to the side of the room, I raised the window, then I began doing the same to every widow in this part of the house, trying to cool the place down. The smoke detector finally, grudgingly died. It had been a newer model; they were always "improving" them. This battery-operated gadget obviously scanned for heat sources, not just smoke. That's what had tripped the thing.

"Show-off," she groused. The sour expression only lasted another ten seconds, though; and she grinned. "Thank you."

"I am sworn to protect you," I told her in mock-serious.

"Yes, you are." She walked right up to me, put both hands flat on my chest, leaned forward, and kissed me on the lips.

Okay, the nonchalant, cool act died, and my mind was suddenly a complete blank. As the kiss continued, the blood started pounding in my ears, and my palms felt sweaty as they held her. When had I started holding her? Was her tongue touching my lips? What was she trying to ...?

Her hands shoved slightly on my chest, and I suddenly jerked my arms back from around her and stepped away. I found that I was breathing deeply, as if I'd run a great distance. Even more disturbing, SHE was taking deep breaths, too.

"Wow," she whispered, more to herself than to me.

"I am trying very, very, very hard not to stare at your chest right now," I told her sullenly.

She reached out and took my right hands in both of hers, then she studied it intently. "You've got the biggest hands of anybody I've ever met," she told me.

"Makes it hard to buy a pair of work gloves."

She nodded. I wasn't sure what that meant. "How old are you, Jacob?"

"Eighteen."

She nodded again. I didn't know what that meant, either. "How old are you?" I asked.

"Nineteen."

"Too young to own a gun," I commented.

Once more she nodded. "Too young to buy a beer."

"Or go to a casino. Or a strip club," I added.

"Or rent a car. Or adopt a baby."

"Or get a commercial pilot's license."

She sighed and started tracing my fingers with her own. "What else is there left for us to do?"

I cleared my throat. "What, exactly, are you thinking?"

"I'm wondering what these hands would feel like on my body," she said softly.

Slowly, she turned my palm toward her and pressed it into the flesh at the top of her bare stomach, just below her left breast.

"Oh, fuck," I moaned. I was having trouble breathing again.

"I don't think I like it when you curse," she whispered, nudging the palm upward toward the softness of her boob.

"Oh, flibbertigibbet," I said, squeezing softly.

That brought on a giggle. "Okay, you win. You can curse."

"Oh, fuck."

She gasped as I squeezed again, then she took a steadying breath. "Do you believe in ghosts?"

"No."

"Good. If I take you back to a bedroom and we get attacked by a ghost, will you protect me?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay."

Holding my right hand in both of hers, she pulled me back toward the front of the house and down a hallway that led off toward the side of the home. I don't know how old the place was, but it must have been built way back in the beginning of the 20th Century sometime, with hardwood floors and wide floor moldings that were painted white. I allowed myself to be led like a meek little lamb.

"I'm ... um ... not very experienced with members of the opposite sex," I mumbled. "Or any other sex, for that matter."

She smiled at me. "That's okay."

She passed up a bathroom and tugged me further down the hall. "Wanda?"

Stopping, she looked directly into my eyes. "Yes?"

"Why are you doing this? I'm too big and I'm too clumsy and I'm too ugly. No other woman has ever given me the time of day. And you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my whole ...."

"You know, don't you?" she interrupted. "I can see it in your eyes. You know what happened to everybody."

My vision flicked to her cleavage, and I physically forced it back to her face. Sighing heavily, I shrugged. "Ideas are cheap. Everybody has them. That doesn't make them right."

"But you don't believe in aliens and you don't believe in magic and you don't believe in ghosts," she implored, making me smile, despite myself. "Well," she continued, "that pretty much wipes out everything I can think of. You're super-smart, and you're super-sweet, and you're super-strong ..." she took a deep breath, and my eyes flick downward and back again. "... and that super-turns me on." She started tugging again. "Please, Jacob. Oh, please ...."